I put down everything

I built
a cardboard, 3-D,
poseable T-Rex for you.

Bruising my palms,
pressing the stubborn
pieces together,
cursing a little.

You dance around,
a baby dino,
atop our furniture.
Leaning bodily on me,
to check my progress.

I put down everything:
phone, book, broom, dog food, medicine, computer, journal, coffee, tea, chocolate, sunflower seeds, spatula, paint, checkbook, dish towel, iPad, laundry,

I am doing nothing
but jamming cardboard cut-outs together
according to tiny, lettered diagrams.

When I hand you my
masterpiece,
his name becomes SharpTooth.
He earns a place on the Monster Shelf,
right next to
Godzilla.